Business is Personal
by ToadstoolTales
Summary: Draco Malfoy isn't used to losing, and especially not when it comes to business. Suddenly, his deals are falling through, and his investments are being snatched out from under him. Taking it personally, Draco vows to know more about mysterious company, but gets more than he bargained for when it turns the woman behind the company is a worthy foe.
1. Chapter 1

Draco Malfoy, was not happy.

Staff at Malfoy Incorporated recognised the stormy expression, interpreting his heavy stomp as a reason to be suddenly busy with lots of paperwork, and rather wisely had kept themselves out of his way. Their usually relaxed Boss had suffered the collapse of a large deal, one which had been seconds from a signature, and no one dared ask him what happened.

It was unlikely to be the fault of Malfoy Incorporated. The staff were loyal and hardworking, and there was little they could imagine that could be done more. They had great contacts with nearly every field of work they could imagine, and their reputation for fair prices and deals meant if they needed others, it wouldn't be difficult to form. They were popular, if a little monopolising, but had a reputation for ethical practice that made them the biggest company in the problem.

'Perdita.' He muttered, when, urged by curious staff, the Draco's second in command dared to enter his office. Glancing round, he noted a few ceramic shatters near the walls. Wincing, he realised the only ceramics in Draco's office were the near priceless antiques. Reparo wasn't going to solve that one.

'I'm sorry, Sir?', he asked in confusion, before suddenly doubting whether he should have spoken at all. Mr Malfoy was a kind soul, but flashes of his old temper were legendary.

Draco raised his eyes from the desk and met those of his favourite member of staff. James Johnson was a hard working and business savvy man, often the only one he argued with. Johnson was often right though, the cool voice when Draco allowed his emotions to rule his business.

'The French company, Perdita. They've decided to expand into Britain, and they took the deal'.

Johnson digested this. For a long while, Malfoy Incorporated had attempted to form positive links with the French equivalent company, named Perdita. It was one of those mysterious French things, where no one knew who the CEO was, or how the company had become the size it was, but it was renowned for secrecy, efficacy, and did not come cheap. With such a foundation in France, he knew Mr Malfoy had tried to make the companies friendly, whereby if trouble was found, either could help the other for a reduced fee. Favours were more valuable than money at this level of business.

As Malfoy Incorporated had almost a monopoly over Britain, so did Perdita over France, and some of Spain. From what little they knew, it was uncannily similar to Malfoy Incorporated, looking at investments, aids, seek and find. Only Perdita had shown no interest, and even some disgust, at the idea of trading in the UK. What interest they had in this deal , however promising the deal had been, was out of character, and clearly Mr Malfoy was taking it personally.

'That's an unusual move for them. Do we know what prompted it?'. Johnson never spoke more than a few sentences. Time was money, and he spoke to communicate a point and then would stop.

'Nothing concrete'. Draco muttered. He was now staring at his fingers, a sign that he was mulling things over. It was rare that he lost a deal, and now he had to work out what happened. 'But a few rumours. I'd like you to look into what their sudden interest is all about'.

'I can't guarantee I'll find anything'. Their infamous secrecy did not need vocalising.

'Just dig. Anything. Rumours from French news, gossip from the woman in the canteen, I want to know if this is going to become a regular thing, and what on earth they managed to beat us on. That deal was beautiful, beneficial to both of us; for the best price. I have no idea what happened; and I don't like not knowing'. Each word took on more conviction, and though not quite calm, Draco began to resume his business head.

'I want to know more about them. I don't care if you hassle ex employees, nowhere is infallible, and I'm not being embarrassed again'. He continued.

Johnson nodded. 'I'll get right on it'. Turning, he left the room, leaving Draco alone his anger.

Draco sighed, grabbing a paperweight from his desk, before reclining back in his chair and thumping his feet on the table. As he mused, he shuffled the paperweight from hand to hand.

Malfoy Incorporated had been his brainchild since he left school. He started small, a bit of trading, a few shares here and there. Surprisingly, he found he had a knack for it, a good instinct for when to invest and when to bail out. He doubled his fortune ten times over before he found himself bored, and wanting to try something new.

Buying a huge office complex behind Gringotts in Diagon Alley, he decided to create departments. Sure, Malfoy Inc. began as a shares and trading company, but there was no reason why that had to be everything he did.

Next he created labs beneath the offices, paying for research into medical potions and spells. It wasn't the same kind of fortune as the investments, but it was pleasing work, and with no money limit, it was quickly revolutionising medicine. This, though he was rarely hands on now it was so successful, was his favourite department. Though it led to mass production, which he found somewhat boring, he knew he was making a difference. Now, when people heard the name Malfoy, they might think of the potion that saved their loved one, rather than the cold cruelty of his legacy.

He expanded again though, and quickly. He often invited companies in to pitch for investment, something he did deal with personally. He'd put millions of Galleons into new companies, helping the post-war economy. Then he added a real estate department, and then a wand making one, and then another, and another…. The company had so many different departments it was a wonder that Draco had any idea they even existed, but he knew each and every employee, and had a say in the goings on of each one.

There had been no real disasters in his seven years of trading, that this unforeseen setback, despite really being of little impact long term, had really shocked him. The only problems he'd come across were either structural- a few explosions in inventing departments needed a rebuild- or prejudice – whereby a few would still refuse to trade with a Malfoy. The fact someone who had so happily negotiated with him had chosen another company bothered him, and he wasn't afraid to admit it was his ego that had been dented the most.

This simply wouldn't do, he decided. He got up, summoning his cloak wandlessly and leaving the office.

This was a benefit to being the boss of a good company; it would run for a while without him. Certainly he could give himself the day off , and this was definitely a good day for it. The walk would clear his head.

As he reached the street he was reminded of his first trip to Diagon Alley. Far from the gloomy streets of war time, Diagon Alley was its usual bright and flamboyant self. Shops were colourful and inviting, filled with equally brightly dressed witches and wizards. As it was summer, children seemed to be everywhere, a few probably buying Hogwarts supplies, whilst some merely wanting to ogle at broomsticks or pets.

For years, Draco had only seen Knockturn Alley, and it was always in twilight and always with secrecy. It wasn't until he was about nine that his Mother insisted on his company, and took him here instead. Although he never managed to convince her to buy him Ice Cream, he remembered the trips fondly, mostly as times away from his father.

He took another turn, one he hadn't taken in a long time, and took the shortcut away from Diagon Alley and into the Muggle World.

When he first began in business, he often came into London. Though it took him a while to admit it, their lives were fascinating and forward thinking. Far too much had been ignored by wizards out of laziness and superiority, and he'd concluded he had a lot to learn.

He followed a familiar path, enjoying the total anonymity that came with being in London. In his jeans and shirt – if the manager couldn't be comfortable when he wasn't meeting clients, he didn't see the point in being manager- he blended in with muggles. He loved it. Everyone seemed to have somewhere to be, and everyone ignored everyone else. Apparently this was a British trait, but one the Wizarding world had never adopted. Though it was lovely, he always felt uncomfortable when random people approached him just to talk about odd things. He was used to solitude, and though now polite, didn't want to encourage a large social circle. A few friends here and there, a few women with whom he had arrangements, were all he needed.

He walked for about twenty minutes before finding one of his favourite buildings in the whole of London. He smiled to himself, feeling calmer, as he pulled the door and walked in to what he believed was the greatest bookshop in London. Paradise Discovered was actually a chain of bookshops, but had managed to retain the unique feel. No two were the same, and this one had bookshelves enhancing the two hundred year old architecture. Wooden floors, and inviting spiralling staircases hidden round corners, it was as fun finding the book you wanted as it was purchasing it. Though they of course stocked books by every publisher, they specialised in hard back books with unique covers, either leather bound or fabric, the style of old rather than new.

He knew which book he wanted, and it didn't take him long to locate it. He handed the book to the cashier, glad that he kept muggle money alongside his wizard money, and handed over a crisp note.

After exchanging pleasantries – compliments on his choice, as well as recommendations for the next- the spotted teenage cashier popped the book into a bright purple bag, and passed the handles to Draco.

'Thank you,' Draco said, smiling. His eyes dropped to the bag, noticing the emblem in the bottom corner just as he swung it from the table.

Shock passed over his face. He rapidly pulled the bag back onto the table, and examined the bottom corner.

'Are you okay, sir?', the teen asked. He sounded a little alarmed, which made Draco realise his reaction was somewhat unusual, but more suspicious. He rearranged his features, relaxing himself as if he'd just realised everything was okay. No use scaring the poor lad.

'Yes, I apologise', Draco replied, resuming his smile. 'I just recognise that logo, I've been trying to find some information about it, but I doubt it's the same one. Sorry to worry you.'

The cashier wrinkled his nose, not particularly persuaded by Draco's sudden change of mind. With no customers behind him though, and looking a little bored, he clearly decided to take pity on him.

'I see, Sir. Well it's the group that own Paradise Discovered, Perdita-' Draco's jaw dropped, but he carried on. 'Most people don't know that they own it. They've got loads of stuff though, like, they've donated stuff to the British Museum and Library, and like, that concert in Hyde Park was bought by them, so we all got free tickets, and they run academies and stuff. Me little brother goes to one of them, gets a load more stuff than I did at school, like iPads and IT labs and stuff'.

Whilst not entirely sure what an 'iPad' was, Draco was reeling from the revelation. Clearly they'd always been looking in the wrong place, it wasn't that Perdita didn't trade in the UK, it was that they didn't trade in the Wizarding UK.

'Thank you.' He said, before quickly shuffling out. Pulling a muggle mobile phone from his back pocket- another part of the muggle world he had both embraced and edited with magic, he dialled the number for the office and relayed the news back to Johnson.

'I'll be back in ten minutes', he ended the conversation. What an odd mystery. Draco Malfoy was rarely stumped for long though, and he certainly wouldn't let this one get the better of him.

Perdita, 1, Malfoy Inc, 0


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione Granger was in an extremely good mood. Signing her name with a flourish of the quill, she lad it down and grinned.

'Someone looks happy!', Gemma, her assistant said, as she took the letter from her desk and popped it into an envelope. 'How did the date go?'

'Oh dreadfully,' Hermione replied, the cheerfulness in her voice juxtaposing the sentence. 'He was an investment banker, and god he loved his job. I didn't have the heart to tell him I could do his job with my eyes closed'.

'Hermione, you can't just end dates because they're not as clever as you. You're limiting your men by far too much!'. As much as she loved her boss, who was more of a friend than a superior, Gemma was used to her two-date-a-week, he-was-an-idiot habit. Hermione cackled at her response though, her laugh raising a smile to Gemma's face. It was so mismatched, for a slender, fashionable and well presented business woman, to have such a loud and odd laugh.

'Oh that wasn't all. I then received a lecture on how awful his last girlfriend was because she got a promotion that meant she earned more than him. Which wasn't necessarily an issue, but his mother said it was, and then he thought about proposing but his mother told him not to, because his mother believed she was a gold digger, and besides, his mother said she had a wonky nose and that wouldn't be appropriate if they were to have children, and now he's broken up he realises his mother was right… ' She listed, ticking each point off on her fingers.

'Alright alright, I get it,' Gemma held her hands up in a surrender. 'He wasn't a good match for you. Cant believe he didn't even get to a second date.'

'Did I not mention he stank of fish? He'd been overseeing an investment in a wizarding Fish and Chips and didn't think he needed to shower'. Hermione rolled her eyes. 'He was a wizard. One spell would have made the evening far nicer on my poor nose'.

Both women looked at each other, and then burst into giggles.

'So if you didn't get lucky, why on earth are you in such a good mood?' Gemma asked, regaining her composure. Hermione smirked.

'Because before my god-awful dinner, I lunched with the owner of the Holly Group'. She paused, to allow the information to settle in.

'The wine guys?' She queried.

'The wine guys', Hermione agreed, with a telling smile.

'You got the contract? Are you kidding me?!' Gemma exclaimed. Hermione had talked recently about making a stamp on Wizarding Britiain, but was unusually quiet about her plans. This was a whopper though, what a way to make an impact.

'Would I kid? I got it at a steal as well. Minor investment for a massive share. Something about my impressive contacts, and the fact he didn't like the representative at Malfoy Incorporated. The fact I've stolen it from under his nose just makes it all the sweeter.' She rubbed her hands together gleefully. 'And that's just the first. I've got another six meetings with a mix of British companies, ones my French clients have recommended me to. I've purchased some space in London, and will have a flat bought within the week to make the commute easier'.

Gemma took a second to take it all in. Hermione had spent years avoiding anything to do with the world she grew up in. It could only be ambition that was driving this move, as the big challenges of France were nearly all won, there was little else to do. As Hermione despised trading in languages she didn't know- she liked to oversee everything, and was uncomfortable with the idea that information might be lost in translation- the ventures into wider Europe interested her little. She needed a new challenge before she got bored again, and it appeared this was it.

'Does this mean I can work in a London office now?', Gemma asked, suddenly realising what this meant for her.

'Of course! If you'd wanted to stay here, I'm more than happy for you to continue, because I'll have to get someone in to oversee the day-to-day, but seeing as you live there already I didn't think you'd mind coming with me. A familiar face would be nice!' Hermione replied, her grin now mimicking that of a Cheshire cat.

It was always fascinating the expanses of Hermione's intellect. No alternative was left unconsidered, it was rare anyone could bring ideas she hadn't already thought of.

'Oh thank goodness! No, I'd love to be back in London. Not that I don't love Paris', she backtracked quickly. 'But the portkeys are a pain. If I miss one I have to wait two hours, and there's only so much you can do in that time.'

'See? This move is best for both of us'.

'Is it though?' Gemma retorted before she thought. She watched a flicker of some emotion run through Hermione's face, before she covered it quickly.

'Yes.' She said simply. She wouldn't trade working with Gemma for anything, they'd become friends from the first day, where Gemma had been so scared Hermione might not like the biscuits that she'd been swearing at herself. Hermione had been so surprised to hear language from such a petite little woman over something so trivial, that she burst out laughing and took her out to lunch to calm her down. A friendship had formed.

The downside to this was Gemma knew all too well the reasons for Hermione leaving London, and the reason for secrecy in France. She knew this wasn't an easy decision.

On the other hand though, she knew Hermione was brave as anything, and was always going to return at some point to face her demons. With the pretence of business, she had the perfect excuse to do so.

'Anyway, I was hoping you could get those letters sent off for me', Hermione returned to work mode and gestured to a stack of parchment to her left. 'and rearrange any of my meetings on Thursday and next Tuesday. I have some things to get sorted'.

'No problem. Drinks tonight?'

'Of course!' She responded.

Several hours later, Hermione ordered a cocktail at a small and quirky bar, and twirled the stem of the cherry between her fingers. It was habit on days like these to meet her three best friends for a few drinks, mostly so they could catch up without work getting in the way. She'd found this little haunt year's prior, when she first came to Paris with only her war reward money, and an idea for a business. She'd gotten drunk, spilled her tale to the woman working at the bar, and had to be ordered a taxi home, remembering very little of the night.

When she returned with Ginny a few weeks later, after a weekend of showing her everything Paris had to offer, she found the same woman working at the bar. After a giggle about her antics, the woman had asked how her business was doing. Hermione had no recollection of suggesting anything.

Sure enough, the woman repeated back a business plan, formed by Hermione after several cocktails. Despite the fact that drunkenness usually impairs judgement, rather than improves it, the business plan was solid, and Hermione was struck by the belief her subconscious had told her to get on with it.

After returning there now whenever Ginny visited, they formed an odd friendship with the woman who worked there, who turned out to be called Sophie. Sophie had a little girl called Estelle, who was only four, and worked to support her. She had a wicked sense of humour, and began to join the girls after her shift. As the business grew, Hermione had invested in the little bar, and it wasn't long before Sophie earned the title of manager. Once Gemma had joined them, and was equally accepted, a combination of the four was there most nights, and were known and loved by most of the staff.

Surprisingly though, Hermione was the first there. Often bustling in from late dinners or deals, the workaholic wasn't used to sitting alone at the bar. She knew Gemma would be in soon, but it was rare she was without another person, and or without something to do.

'Another drink, Hermione?' The person working at the bar asked. He was a new lad, just turned twenty and on a gap year. Like Hermione, when he spoke French, it was as if he was a local, but around her, he reassumed his Yorkshire accent, which sounded out of place amongst foreign voices. Hermione looked at her drink, shocked. She hadn't realised she'd even been sipping it, let along finished it, so deep was she in her thoughts.

'Yes please, Derek. Maybe make it a single this time'. She replied, with a smile.

'Miss Granger! What a surprise to see you here.' A male voice exclaimed behind her and she turned to see the culprit.

A tall well built man greeted her, with an unkempt stubble and harsh features. A minor dread rolled over Hermione, as she reached out her hand to shake his.

'Jonathon, lovely to see you again'. Her over politeness offered a hint that this was not the case, but it failed to be noticed.

'I can hardly say the same.' He retorted. Yep, definitely missed the tone. 'Your excuses last time were pitiful. You've only let yourself down'.

Hermione failed to mask a snort. She attempted to morph it into a cough or sneeze or something excusable, but gave up quickly. Jonathon glowered at her.

'I'm sorry Jonathon, I believe I was honest with you at our last meeting, and I can only apologise you are unhappy with the outcome'. Politeness was often colder than harsh words, and was a tool Hermione kept in her arsenal.

'Do you really think you could do better?' He sneered. This was the reason she had rejected his request for a second date in the first place. Arrogant, selfish, and big headed, he was hardly someone she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Unfortunately, he had begun their interactions with such charisma and confidence, she had been intrigued enough to accept his offer of dinner. Before even the wine was brought, she knew she'd made the wrong decision.

'Yes Jonathon'. She replied simply. She had learnt from various encounters- including those with Ron – that the men she tended to date often required simple sentences to communicate the important bits of the conversation. Justification just invited argument.

'You're a fool. A-'

'I think it's time for you to leave now.' Derek interrupted. This was hardly a pub brawl, but outsiders didn't have a right to upset regulars. Or owners. Hermione was both.

Despite Derek's small frame, Jonathon seemed to decide this was a good exeunt for an argument he did not seem to be winning. With a harsh look, and a string of curse words under his breath, he left.

'Sorry about that Hermione,' Derek said. 'He's been here for a few hours, so he's probably had a bit too much to drink. He tried to hit on the lady over there, but she rejected him. He's probably a bit sore after that.'

'It's not a problem Derek, he's more of a time waster than a worry'. She smiled, reassuring him her night was still intact.

'Miss Granger! What a surprise to see you here.' A female voice this time, mimicked Jonathan's opening line. Hermione spun around, expecting Gemma but seeing Ginny. She squealed, before leaping to her feet and enveloping her in a massive hug. It'd been a few months since she'd seen Ginny, who had been off on tour with her Quidditch team.

'I can't believe you're here!' Hermione exclaimed, nodding at Derek for a drink for her friend. 'How was the tour?'

'Oh dull as anything' she replied lightly. 'Harry was off on assignment so I couldn't even talk to him. It was cold too, not like the tour we did of Spain last year. Way prefer beach time to epic views'.

'Nice to see ancient architecture bores you', Hermione replied, grinning.

'I cant believe you still have the crazy men after you,' Ginny said, ignoring Hermione's comment. 'I feel like you're always fighting them off. Anyway, more interestingly, how're things with you then?' she asked, sparing a smile for Gemma as she joined them mid-conversation. She'd seen Gemma earlier that day, which was half the reason Gemma had asked Hermione for drinks on this evening specifically.

'Good! Very good. I'm moving to London in a week or so. Been on a property hunt, and I think I've found one'.

'Woah!' Exclaimed Ginny. 'That's a change of scene to the extreme. What's prompted that?'

Hermione shrugged. 'Bored. There's only so much you can do before you need something new, and so now I'm back off to England where the tea is better and it rains too much'.

'Tea is definitely better in England'. Ginny agreed. 'Even if you take the teabags with you, I think it's the water'.

'So where have you found?' Gemma asked.

'I'm torn between two. There's a gorgeous flat in central Wizarding London, that would be perfect for work. And everything. And I want it.'

'You sound really torn.' Ginny noted, with a grin.

'Well, that's true. I want this one. The second is a consolation prize.' Hermione took a dramatic sip of her drink, as if she were downing her worries in it.

'So what's the problem?' said Gemma.

'Well, the flat is in a complex of luxury apartments, designed for the kind of business people who spend lots of time in lots of places and the location is perfect'. Hermione paused to take another sip of her drink, meeting the anticipant eyes of her friends.

'Well, the neighbours.'

'Go on, damnit woman you should have gone into story telling!' Ginny exclaimed. Hermione grinned.

'Fine. I bugged the cleaner of the complex to give me the gossip, and it turns out it's a bit of a crazy place. Three 'hot bachelors', four 'super bitches', an inventor who forgets he can't experiment on his house, and a 'smoking hot piece of ass'.

'I'm not seeing a problem.' Gemma said in a monotone, before cracking a smile. Hermione was hardly a prude though.

'It's hardly relaxing! Home is my sanctuary. I don't want to be dealing with all sorts of rubbish'.

'Hermione, you're worrying too much'. Ginny told her sternly. 'You made that out to be something awful, it's your dream apartment, so take it. Are you going to that charity thing you wanted to in London? Did you get a dress?'

'Nah, too much hassle. I donated what my dress would have cost instead.'

'And a whole new school opened' muttered Gemma, knowing the kinds of dress her friend tended to buy. They cost more than most made in a year.

'Anyway. If I'm gong to agree to this apartment, I'll need to head to London. Can I crash at yours, Gin?' Hermione asked. It was a pretty unusual request, but it made sense. Gemma was obsessed with saving, and despite her substantial salary lived in a tiny one-bed starter flat in central London, above a shop. She hadn't the space for guests. Ginny on the other hand, had moved into Harry's oversized house. He'd wanted somewhere to settle down in that would be suitable for generations, and the massive house in rural Yorkshire with enough land for five quidditch pitches suited him down to the ground.

'Oh. Yes of course!' Ginny replied. Hermione back in England. Crazy.

With a small smile, Hermione was thinking the exact same thing.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco sipped red wine, praising it and the host with the etiquette expected of a Malfoy. With a blond on his arm, he was the presented impeccably for both the occasion- a luxury charity auction- and the gossip papers that would undoubtedly slander him in the morning. Having won 'Sexiest Bachelor', 'Richest Bachelor', 'Most Intelligent Bachelor', and goodness knows what others, the gossip rags delighted in predicting the likelihood of a future with each and every date. His last date, a brunette named Rosie, found her parents had been interviewed, about everything from Rosie's preference for children to her star sign. Interestingly, there was a whole backstory for the apparent secret relationship they had, following several dates and Draco pestering for engagement. This was made all the more interesting by the fact he had been set up with her as a blind date, and the event they went to together – a gallery opening- was both the first and last time they'd met. Rosie had made it clear that Draco's money was the most interesting part of him, and whilst her body tempted him, he chose to end the evening chivalrously- dropping her home with a kiss on the cheek and a thank-you-for-a-lovely-evening.

Polite, but clearly not interested.

He wasn't faring better with this blond either. She was one of those who changed her name depending on her mood, for now she was called 'Wave', because 'It's like, so peaceful', but he knew her real name to be Karen. Her insistence on droning on about how alternative medicine was far more effective than medicine bored him, mostly because he knew far more about it than she did, and her sweeping statements about how 'Potions only work because the companies tell us they do', made him secretly want to curse her and see how long it was before she believed in potions again.

Not only that, he'd attempted conversation about a range of topics, from books, to spells, to news, all of which she'd sneered at. As a self proclaimed ex snob, Draco fully understood her attempt to seem above it all, but now with a little humility, he just found her attitude frustrating.

Ah well, he thought. Just one night. At least he could then acquire the 600 year old Booke of Spelles that he was attending for.

It was a silent auction, whereby sealed bids are submitted, and read out over a dinner. Although it was less exciting than an active auction, he had to admit it tended to raise more money. He'd sized up the other attendants, and put a weighty bid on the book, sure that no one else attending could afford to beat it.

As Wave/Karen babbled further on to him, as unfortunately wine seemed only to encourage her, he cast his mind back to his puzzle.

Back at the Office, he'd discovered that whilst there was frustrating little known about their workings, some details could be gleamed from their investments and donations, which could only be reflective of their creator.

Many of the donations were to do with education. Investments in schools, bookshops, and future education. There was a lot for children, hospices, orphanages, play parks. The list went on. This gave him two key pieces of information about the beholder- One: They were far more successful than they were ever given credit for. The donations were often close to blank cheques, there was no concern for bankruptcy at all. No one was that careless, and so the fortunes were almost unimaginable. Well. Not unimaginable for Draco Malfoy. The second thing he could learn from this list was the person was extraordinarily intelligent. Obviously, to get into their situation they had to be, but they valued their knowledge, and wanted to further others.

Very noble, he thought, with less sarcasm than he wanted. He begrudgingly was impressed.

The only other information Johnson could gather was that the creator and manager – like with his, the same person- was a woman.

Merlin, he couldn't imagine a woman with business savvy like that.

'Ladies and Gentlemen', a booming voice echoed in the room. 'Would you please take your seats. Dinner will be served'.

Unsurprisingly, Draco found himself seated with a few familiar faces. Some were business clients, to whom he was happy to converse lightly with. He was always cautious speaking to them, one alcohol influenced suggestion could damage both the business, and the business relationship with Malfoy Incorporated.

He was surprised to be sat on the same table as a familiar red headed Weasel.

Searching his memory, he tried to remember where Ron Weasley ended up. Certainly not with Hermione Granger, as his high profile romance was destroyed by his high profile affair. He remembered talks of the Weasel being in and out of rehab for potion addiction, and some talk of Quidditch but he wasn't sure.

'Mr Weasley is here as on his PR's advice', Mr Ryan, a balding and overweight owner of a company Draco had invested in, muttered to him. Draco raised an eyebrow. 'I saw you thinking. He got arrested for being drunk outside Diagon Alley, shouting about how money raised in regards to the war should go to him because he was the one who won it.'

'He always was greedy,' Draco replied in a similarly quiet voice. He rarely showed negative opinion in public, but his hatred was well known.

'There're all sorts of rumours about him. Prostitutes with children, estranged from the other two, spent all his money gambling and then demanding more'. He continued. 'He had a thing with an up and coming model, but she threatened to sell an expose on how crap he'd treated her and he ended up paying her hush money. She wouldn't tell me the ins and outs of it, but she reckoned she had enough to make the public hate him. I take it you know him?' Draco remembered now why Mr Ryan was great with gossip, he ran a model agency. He'd given him a start up investment, and now it was extremely successful. The models ran in all circles for all sorts of business, whether advertising or high fashion, and it meant they absorbed a lot of information. Secrets, Mr Ryan claimed, were the currency you could trust.

'I knew him from school. Never quite understood where he fit in, he always seemed to be shouting over nothing much. Compared to the other two, I never quite got it.' He replied. Much better to speak to Mr Ryan than Wave/Karen, who had now began pestering the poor woman next to her.

'Well, compare then and now,' he continued, puffing out his chest in a way that reminded him of Professor Slughorn. 'I remember him being the saviour of the wizarding world. Well, the sidekick to the saviour. He was in every newspaper every week'.

'Indeed. Look at him now.'

Both did, taking in more of his appearance than the first glance had. His hair was groomed and styled, but was mismatched in length. His face was riddled with marks, some scars, some just the haggard appearance of a Wizard addicted, emphasised by his scrawny underweight figure. Far from the grotesque scenes in the Great Hall where he shovelled food like some crazy animal, he looked as if he hadn't eaten a full meal in some weeks.

The smile he gave to a friend didn't quite reach his eyes, and when it lasted more than a few seconds became clearly forced. He obviously did not want to be here, but if prompted by PR, he had little other choice. It was good advice, and he would be an idiot not to take it.

Starters were produced within a few minutes, a beautiful and simple tomato soup, supposedly made with lavish ingredients but in fact as tasty as the tinned variety.

Draco continued to muse over Ronald Weasley long after the conversation had changed. There were 12 to a table, and with him opposite; he was mercifully saved from engaging in direct conversation. By the look of things, Weasley was pretty quiet anyway. Never impolite, but never continuing conversation. He couldn't work out if Weasley had even spotted him.

It was always strange though, to see someone from your past. Especially considering the far fetched circumstances. Here was Draco, the villain of the piece, successful and philanthropic, popular and well liked. Over the table was Ronald, the hero of the war who fell so far from grace he was half ignored in retellings of the tale now.

How things change, he continued to think. Blaise Zabini had disappeared long ago, Pansy had married some pureblood Russian and lived isolated in some half mansion-half-castle monstrosity. Crabbe and Goyle were now dead, one in the war and one killed by aurors in a ludicrous attempt to free some Death Eaters from Azkaban.

Hmm, he thought. Maybe the Slytherins didn't change much.

Saying that, maybe only Ron had changed. Scarhead was engaged to Weaselette, as per predictions, and was head of the Auror Department. Granger had disappeared, probably back to the muggle world. It always surprised him that she'd turn her back on magic, perhaps she wasn't as clever as she seemed.

Main course was served, but Draco was on autopilot by now. It wasn't often he thought of his Hogwarts years – for obvious reasons- and he realised he'd barely noticed what was going on with his former classmates. He only glanced at the Daily Prophet news section on the way to the business section, and the little scraps of information he did know were mostly gleaned from business partners gossiping. Dessert next.

He began a polite conversation with Wave/Karen, knowing he couldn't avoid her for the entire evening. God forbid the papers call him dull. Thankfully, he was rescued by an unremarkable man taking the stage.

'Ladies and Gentlemen, if I could have your attention. My name is Hugh Legal Bids have been counted, and verified, and we would like to announce and thank our successful bidders'. Hugh said. He carried an envelope with him, which he unfolded now.

'For the special edition Thunderstreak 4000' – a broom that Draco had been sorely tempted by. 'The successful bid was three thousand galleons, and was made by Jack Quince'.

A polite applause was raised, and a man a few tables over grinned widely.

'We thank you for your kind purchase'. Hugh continued when it quietened. 'The next item…'

This continued for several items, the value ranging wildly. Though obviously people took the opportunity to procure these exclusive items, much of the actual purchase was donation. Draco had tripled his actual estimate of the book he wanted, in support of the cause. He'd actually donated millions of galleons to the cause quietly. Hope for Children was a charity helping anyone effected by the war, whether counselling, education, medical fees… The list went on. Considering Draco's involvement, he thought it was the least he could do.

After some time, the book came up.

'The winning bid is…' He paused. Draco prepared his graciously smug face. 'An unnamed donor from Perdita, of an incredible fifty six thousand galleons'.

Voices rang out in shock, lots of muttering to each other almost drowning out the applause. No shock matched that of Draco's though.

'What on earth?!' He exclaimed, before he realised he'd spoken. Luckily, he was barely heard over everyone else.

'Incredibly generous,' Mr Ryan commented.

'Incredibly specific,' Draco retorted, frowning.

'Problem?'

'No, no problem. Just more puzzles'. At this statement, Mr Ryan raised an eyebrow, but conversation was stopped by the announcement of the next item.

After twenty or so items, the auction was declared a success, and a round of applause a speech on the importance of the charity. Once dissolved, people began resuming conversation, shuffling from table to table to chat.

Draco took his mind off his surprise defeat by networking. He greeted business partners, chatted about new investments, and gently flirted. He introduced Wave/Karen to a number of other potential suitors, glad to be rid of her, and enjoyed a fairly remarkable conversation with a teenager. The boy had been dragged to the event by his wealthy mother, and though complained about his presence, was surprisingly astute in his comments on business. Draco passed his mother a card for Malfoy Incorporated when he disappeared, offering an apprenticeship for when he left school.

After an hour or so, people began disappearing. Draco offered an arm to his tipsy date, who kept pawing at his chest and shouting about how great her night was. Definitely not interested, he reaffirmed. Holding her tightly (so she didn't stumble) he apparated to her doorstep.

'Would you like to come in for a coffee?' Wave/Karen slurred.

'Not tonight darling.' He replied gently, as her nails began digging into his arm. 'I had a lovely evening but I think you need a glass of water'. My god, no one ever gave men credit for this rubbish.

'But, coffee?' She was frowning now, some water in her eyes looking scarily like tears. Oh how it would be a million times easier to take her up on the offer and high five someone about it tomorrow.

Nope, she was far too annoying for the risk.

'Thank you, maybe some other time'. As gently has he could, he prised her hands from his arm, looked pointedly at her front door. With a huff and a flounce, she pulled her wand from her handbag and stepped towards the door.

She hesitated for a second, swaying dangerously, before swinging around and launching herself at Draco.

Her attempt at a kiss was ruined by her lack of coordination, Draco panicked in that second as he tried to stop her from falling face first to the floor, but avoid her lips as much as possible. He succeeded in preventing the kiss, but she caught his cheek, and Draco thought quickly and tried to embrace her in a hug to pretend that was her intention.

'Goodnight Wave.' He said firmly, standing her upright. He stepped back, and with a twist, apparated home.

Settling on his sofa after letting himself in, he sighed. He really needed to start dating people who could keep up with his conversation.


End file.
